


the heart of the matter

by notavodkashot



Series: FFXV one shots [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Feelings, Gen, Gladio is a stubborn ass, Ignis keeps the peace, M/M, Noctis is an emotionally constipated mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12053928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: Five conversations set during chapter X, and one after. Or, Ignis keeps the peace, despite it all.





	the heart of the matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [temporalDecay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalDecay/gifts).



> Just a bit of character study while I get my bearings about these guys.

* * *

_the heart of the matter_

* * *

i. 

“He's... concerned.” 

Noctis gave Ignis an incredulous look, before he realized Ignis couldn't see it. The realization was accompanied by the expected stab of guilt, and it bit as hard as it had each time he stumbled on it. As before, Noctis felt the pulse of power in the ring, echoing the flare of emotion in his gut. As before, he ignored it. 

He wasn't even wearing the goddam thing. 

“Pissed off more like,” Noctis said, after a moment, just as he noticed Ignis' fingers twitch around the handle of the cane. “With reason, too. Since, you know. You two... He's... Well.” He made a small helpless gesture with his hands. “Yeah.” 

It was exhausting, he thought, to have to put to words everything that had always been unsaid, between him and Ignis. They had a language of sorts, just their own. Noctis felt and thought and acted, but it had always been Ignis that put it all to words. Now, though, Ignis couldn't see all the little things Noctis wanted him to, and the King – no longer a prince – had to wrestle his own thoughts and shove them into words too small for them. 

“Gladio... feels strongly about things,” Ignis said, humming in the back of his throat. “For better or for worse.” 

A gross understatement, that, Noctis thought with a grimace he fought to swallow back as best he could. Gladio had made his thoughts and feelings abundantly clear, and though Noctis tried, he couldn't quite bridge the gap properly. Gladio wasn't Ignis, who sometimes knew Noctis' mind better than he knew it himself, and he didn't understand the language of gestures and actions and unsaid things. For the first time in years, Noctis looked at his friend and saw the same cold disdain of a man bound by duty to someone he did not consider worthwhile. 

It hurt more, now, than it had then. 

Then Gladio had only been his trainer and a figure slanted to fill in the nebulous title of Shield. Now Noctis knew what a Shield meant, and most importantly, who Gladio really was. A friend and a brother, and someone without whom Noctis sincerely doubted his chances in accomplishing the feats he was meant to. 

“I could... speak with him,” Ignis offered, as the silence stretched, empty, “if you'd like.” 

Noctis laughed quietly, bitter. 

“Because that will go over so well,” he said, running a nervous hand over his hair. “No. I'll... no.” He swallowed hard, unconsciously squaring his shoulders as he did. “I'll see this through. I'll handle it.” 

“Noct.” 

Ignis looked strange, standing straight and holding the cane in a fierce grip. 

Noctis nodded. 

Remembered. 

Winced. 

“I know.” And then, because it was the truth even though Ignis had refused to let him apologize for it, several times. “I was never meant to cost you this. I was never meant to cost _anyone_ this.” 

Ignis made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and reached out a hand. After a moment, Noctis reached for it, then yelped in the back of his throat when Ignis pulled him in roughly, wrapping his arms around him. The cane clattered against the floor. Noctis wasn't sure why he was surprised by the easy strength behind the gesture: just because Ignis was blind, it did not mean he was weak. 

“You are meant for greatness,” Ignis told him, as Noctis' fingers dug into his back, and tried to let the fierceness of his hold explain himself. “Greatness is, more often than not, well worth any price paid for it.” 

* * *

ii. 

“Didn't have Ebony in stock.” 

Ignis twitched his lips into a ghost of a smile as Gladio's hands guided his own to the cup in front of him. The touch lingered a little longer than strictly necessary, but then it was gone and Ignis imagined Gladio twitching uncomfortably in the rather small seat. 

“I appreciate the thought, nonetheless,” Ignis said, which was true enough. “Even if you'd much rather not have to bother.” 

Gladio made a noncomittal sound in the back of his throat, but one of his feet pressed against Ignis' leg, less of a kick and more the vague impression of it. Like a chastised child trying and failing to control a bubbling tantrum. He should not find it endearing, but part of himself couldn't help but remember it was all for his benefit. 

“Too soft,” Gladio muttered after the silence stretched too long, and the pressure of his foot changed again, much kinder this time. 

“Too hard,” Ignis replied, lips barely moving at all. 

It was an old shorthand they had, a small summary of the one argument they never resolved peacefully and instead turned into a succint, efficient show of displeasure. They liked each other too much to stay angry for long, even if there was one thing they were never going to agree on. 

“This is different, though,” Gladio said, ignoring the shorthand for the sake of voicing his thoughts – a tad less loudly than he had, when he'd ended up causing Noctis to storm off, at least. “It's...” 

“Because it's me?” Ignis taunted, and he knew it was meanspirited to do so, more so when Gladio growled low in the back of his throat. 

“Because it's one of us,” Gladio retorted with a low hiss, and Ignis could see it in his mind, the way his brows dropped down and he glared with conviction. “Because shit outta change, after something like this.” 

“Is that what you want?” Ignis asked, voice carefully neutral. “For things to change?” 

Ignis didn't think so. He knew he didn't. But Gladio would consider admitting such things to be weakness, particularly when faced against such stacked odds as they were. Gladio was strong, always, whether he wanted to or not. That was his duty and his frustration, and Ignis thought himself a good sport about it, most of the time. He appreciated the nuances behind Gladio's role, the pressure and pain that came with being a Shield. 

But he was also deeply exhausted, emotionally and otherwise, and he just wasn't in the right place, to coax Gladio to put his actions into words. It wasn't as it was with Noctis, Ignis thought with an echo of Gladio's own frustration, there was actually an effort involved in the process, not just the natural sense of knowing what his King required of him. 

“I suggest you sleep on it,” Ignis said, despite it all, because Gladio was... someone he cared for enough to try, even if he was tired. “Figure out what you want and what you need. I reckon we won't have much chance to enjoy pensive breaks soon enough, as it is.” 

The steady touch against his leg relented and Ignis knew Gladio left by the rustle of his clothes. 

He was not mad that he'd gone without a word, really. 

He was just tired. 

* * *

iii. 

“It's not that I don't care.” 

Ignis' fingers clenched on his cane on reflex, startled. He loathed that. He loathed every single little thing that came with the blanket of darkness over his world, every tiny difference that refused to be waved away despite his best efforts. He tilted his head towards the sound and offered what he hoped was a small smile. 

“I'm well aware, Noct,” he said, motioning to the empty seat in front of him. 

It had taken a bit to convince Prompto to go off and get some food, as well as a solemn promise not to wander off on his own. Ignis appreciated the concern, but he still had duties to attend to. Duties no one else could see to, because no one else even knew they were duties in the first place. Prompto meant well, and so did Gladio, and he loved them dearly for all they bit at his patience sometimes. But still, this was his, beyond titles and offices and every tiny speck of bullshit in the way. 

“I care,” Noctis insisted, over the loud rustle of his clothing as he sat down. 

“I know you do,” Ignis replied, and offered a facsimile of Noctis' best shrugs to go with his words. “It's not your fault.” 

Noctis was silent for a moment, before he sighed a bitter little laugh. All his laughs were bitter, as of late, and while Ignis understood why, he couldn't help but hate it anyway. Noctis rarely laughed, but had always been sincere when he did. 

“That's a lie, and we both know it,” Noctis said, and then Ignis felt tentative fingers brushing his own. “Thank you for not hating me for it.” 

Ignis shifted his hand, trying and failing to grasp Noctis' fingers in his own. A second attempt yielded the intended result. It gnawed at him, that he couldn't do it right the first time, but then Noctis was holding onto him tight enough to bruise, and Ignis supposed it didn't matter how many attempts were necessary, if it worked in the end. 

“Noct,” Ignis said, with the precise inflection to communicate exactly what a ludicrous thing the King had just said. 

“We'll be reaching the tomb soon enough,” Noctis replied, and let go of Ignis' hand after one last squeeze. “Look sharp, Specs, it's probably gonna go to shit anyway.” 

* * *

iv. 

“You're not taking him down there.” 

Ignis felt another unkind twitch of his lips as Gladio's voice dripped contempt. He was, objectively speaking, handling things a lot better than Ignis thought he would. Gladio was the sort of straightforward, honest person that said what was on his mind, always, and he had a tendency to act without a thought to consequences, when someone he cared about was threatened in any way. Usually, Ignis liked that. Were he a different kind of person, he'd be forced to admit 'loved' was the word he'd meant to use. But he wasn't, and most importantly, Gladio wasn't, and frankly Ignis was getting a little tired of being patient and waiting for him to work out his feelings on his own, considering Ignis was the one who was _blind_. 

Ignis' cane smacked against Gladio's leg, a little too hard for it to be unintentional. 

“Oh,” he said, offering a small smile, “my bad.” 

He could only imagine the look on their faces – Prompto's wide eyed look, Noctis' little smirk, Gladio's scowl – but the matter was dropped, and that was enough for him. 

“You don't have to do this,” Gladio muttered at him, one arm wrapped securely around his back as he helped him down the wet, slippery stairs. 

Of course it had to be raining. 

Of course. 

“We do, actually,” Ignis bit back, off the side of his mouth, low enough to not be heard. “He's the King.” 

It wasn't the right thing to say. He knew it before he said it, and he knew it as he felt Gladio's arm tighten around him. Ignis found he didn't care, because it was true and he thought it was on Gladio to _make_ it into the right thing, this time around. 

He still got a petty, vindictive and entirely unbecoming pleasure from smacking Gladio with his cane for his retort about royal commendations. 

* * *

v. 

“You're not my King.” 

For an infinitely eternal moment, Ignis' blood ran cold as ice in his veins, until he realized Gladio was talking to him, not to Noctis. Noctis and Prompto were gone, off to scavange something vaguely edible from the restaurant car. He let out his breath as steadily as he could and cleared his throat for good measure. 

“I'm well aware, Gladio.” 

“You're not my _King_ , Iggy,” Gladio insisted, and swallowed hard enough for Ignis to hear. “I am the King's Shield. I'm meant to shield only him. But...” Ignis stayed quiet, hoping his expression was encouragement enough. “But I can't help but want to be your Shield too.” 

Ah. Well then. 

“Even if it's a risk?” Ignis probed, and betrayed his nervousness by pushing the glasses up his nose. “A big one?” 

“I keep forgetting,” Gladio admitted quietly, “that you don't actually need a Shield.” He scoffed. “You told me to figure it out, what I want and what I need. So I did.” 

“Indeed,” Ignis replied, and the smile was easier this time, less strained. “I don't need a Shield, and I don't want you to think you need to split yourself between your duty and-” 

“Yeah,” Gladio interrupted, voice slightly strained. 

It made Ignis' smile wider. 

“I'm not going away,” Ignis promised, despite what he'd said when he'd finally grown tired of Gladio and Noctis' spat. “I'm not slowing you down, either.” 

“Gonna keep me on my toes, then, huh?” Gladio asked, but there was a degree of warmth to his voice, for all he sounded resigned. 

“Unless you absolutely cannot stand it,” Ignis replied, and then tapped his cane against Gladio's leg, softly, like a taunt. “But if so, then I'm afraid you will have to use your words and be upfront about it.” 

The silence stretched, but less thin this time around. Ignis wondered what Gladio's face looked like, what expression was mulling over his words. He wondered if he'd pushed too far, and then figured it was better to sort it out now, than later. He told himself not to allow regrets. 

“He told me he was ready,” Gladio said, voice just the tiniest bit awed beneath the relief, and Ignis startled as a strong arm sneaked around his own, holding him steady. “I want to believe he's ready.” 

Ignis allowed himself a dry snort as he followed Gladio's lead. 

“You must feel so lucky, having a choice in your beliefs.” 

“We'll see this through, all of us,” Gladio replied, in lieu of something biting, as Ignis was half expecting him to. “And when it's over we'll figure out the rest.” 

The dronning voice of the announcer echoed down the station, signaling the train was ready to depart. 

Gladio's hand tightened around Ignis' arm. 

“Are we clear?” 

Ignis smirked, a proper one, for the first time since the Hydrean fell. 

“Crystal.” 

* * *

i. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Ignis turned his head to the sound of Prompto's voice. He sounded small, which was never a good thing, as far as Ignis was concerned. 

“Certainly,” Ignis replied, endevouring his tone to sound kind, rather than brisk. 

“...are you okay?” 

Ignis chuckled and reached out a hand to hold Prompto's, to reassure him the laughter was not meanspirited. 

“Now that the King and his Shield have stopped bickering like children?” He said, lips wanning into a wry smile. “I stand a good chance to be, yes.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit are most welcome and sincerely appreciated.


End file.
